The Long Game
by purplehairedwonder
Summary: With only months left on a four-year sentence, con artist Sebastian Smythe escapes from prison. Blaine Anderson, the FBI agent who first caught him, is once again put on his trail. White Collar!AU. Written for Seblaine Week.


**Author's Note:** Written for Seblaine week day 2, filling the prompt "TV shows." Here there be a _Glee/White Collar_ fusion (alas, no Matt Bomer), inspired by the WC pilot. This is ridiculously self-indulgent and I'm not even sorry.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

**The Long Game**

* * *

"Hey Boss."

Blaine looked up to see Santana standing in his office doorway, a frown pulling her lips downward.

"What is it, Santana?" he asked, closing the case file he'd been going over. The Dutchman had struck again, and no one on his team seemed capable of making heads or tails of the meager evidence left behind in the wake of the most recent robbery.

"It's Sebastian Smythe," she said quietly. "He escaped from prison."

Blaine's eyes widened, not sure he'd heard her correctly. "What?"

"Not two hours ago," she added.

But that didn't make any sense. "He only had four months left on his sentence. Why would he leave now?" One thing Blaine knew for certain was that Sebastian Smythe never did anything without a purpose.

"Hell if I know," Santana said, rolling her eyes. Smythe had always gotten under her skin; Blaine tended to think it was because they shared a lot of core traits, but he'd never dare tell her that. He valued his life (and his balls, which she had threatened on more than one occasion) after all. "They're asking for you to take lead on this, though."

Blaine frowned. "But we're working the Dutchman case."

Santana shrugged. "This is more important to the higher ups, apparently." She gave him an appraising look. "You're also the only one to ever catch him."

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose. Sebastian Smythe was a world class con artist and art forger, and Blaine had spent three years on his tail, learning everything about the man—from his favorite movie to his least favorite wine, his aliases to his elementary school—in the process. Blaine's fiancé, Kurt, had joked on more than one occasion, each time with less humor, that Blaine knew more about Smythe than him.

Toward the end of the hunt for Smythe, Blaine had gotten obsessive, being so close after so long, and his relationship with Kurt had suffered. They'd worked things out once Smythe had been locked away, but Kurt didn't appreciate the birthday cards sent to Blaine from prison each year. Because for all that Blaine had learned about Smythe, the con man had returned the favor in order to successfully evade Blaine for so long. Though Blaine had been a junior agent, barely assigned to New York's White Collar division, when he was put on Smythe's case, his insight had propelled him through the ranks, and he was leading the taskforce within a year.

There was a measure of respect between the two men, only months apart in age yet polar opposites in vocation. But as they learned about each other, they realized they had a lot more in common than one might expect of an FBI agent and an art thief. Somehow, though, that had made the chase all the grander. Blaine would never forget the day they'd finally caught Smythe; it was the day that had made his career, earning him accolades as the only man able to outsmart _the_ Sebastian Smythe, number one on the White Collar's most wanted list, and a promotion.

But that wasn't why it was unforgettable; Blaine would never be able to shake the stunned look on Smythe's face for being allowed one final moment with the lover he'd chased across the world before his arrest. At some point, Adam Crawford had gone off the grid and had remained in hiding for over a year while Smythe chased him, only to reappear out of the blue. Blaine had had the man tailed, expecting Sebastian to show up to confront Adam, and indeed he had. But Blaine, admittedly a huge romantic, had told his men to give them five minutes before descending on the warehouse Adam was holed up in.

When the FBI had arrived, Sebastian had immediately surrendered, but not before shaking Blaine's hand. "Good game," he'd said. Blaine could see in his eyes that he'd known he was going to be caught by going to that meeting; he just hadn't cared.

"Blaine?" Santana prompted, pulling Blaine from his reverie. "You good to head over to the prison?"

"Yeah," he said, rising from his desk and grabbing his suit jacket. "Grab Evans and let's go."

FBI agents and uniforms had the apartment building surrounded, and Santana and Sam were ready to go in behind Blaine, but he ordered them to wait in the hallway. The door to the apartment was open as Blaine approached, and when he stepped inside, he realized that all the furniture and other furnishings gone—it was empty except for the man sitting against a pillar in the middle of the room, cradling a bottle of wine in his hands.

"Looks like Adam moved out," Blaine called out.

Sebastian flinched, but didn't turn. "I missed him by two days."

At the prison, they'd discovered that six weeks before Smythe had escaped Adam had visited him for the first time since his imprisonment. The surveillance footage revealed what looked like an argument through the visiting room window. However, but Adam had gone off the grid again, and the best lead they could track down was his last known address—an apartment in SoHo. Blaine had been confident they'd find Sebastian there.

"It's been a while," Blaine said. The last time he'd seen the other man in person, it had been at his trial when Blaine had testified against him. Sebastian had eventually been sentenced to four years.

Sebastian huffed a weak laugh. "Three and half years, give or take a few months." He turned his head toward the sound of Blaine's voice but remained sitting. "I knew they'd send you."

"I did catch you once," Blaine said, rounding the pillar to stand next to Sebastian, who was down to a t-shirt and slacks rather than his usual tailored suit and looking more than a little wrecked.

"Did you get the birthday cards?" Sebastian asked, not looking up from the bottle in his hands.

"Oh yes, highlight of the day," Blaine deadpanned and Sebastian snorted.

"I'll bet the fiancé wasn't so appreciative."

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "Low blow, Smythe."

Sebastian grimaced. "You're right, that's below me. Us." He shook his head. "Sorry." He paused and looked at Blaine then. "Congratulations on the engagement, by the way."

Blaine inclined his head, deciding not to bother asking where Sebastian had heard about that. "Weapons?"

"What do you think?" Sebastian had always preferred to use his brain—or his looks or both—as his only weapons. And, as a point of professional pride at this point, he wouldn't lie about it. He'd been beaten.

Blaine nodded and radioed his men. "All clear. Subject identified and unarmed."

"_Roger that," _was the reply.

Sebastian's eyes widened slightly. "We surrounded?"

Blaine nodded, holstering his radio. "Got pretty much all of my men here."

"For little ol' me? I'm touched, Anderson," Sebastian teased, a hint of the flirty personality Blaine had come to know well during the chase returning. "And here I worried we might have lost some of our legendary chemistry after our time apart."

Blaine rolled his eyes and spread his arms wide. "You'll notice I'm the only one in here, Sebastian." Santana would've exploded at him by now and Sam tended to find him bemusing, so Blaine decided it was easiest to go in alone. He nodded to the wine bottle in the other man's hands. "You at least get some kind of message from him?"

Sebastian shrugged and put the bottle down. "The bottle is the message." He licked his lips. "It's goodbye."

Blaine frowned, eyeing Sebastian carefully. Despite the red of his eyes, Sebastian seemed surprisingly fine after apparently having been left by the man he'd chased around the world for over a year and had been willing to go to prison just to see one more time. Sebastian rose and faced Blaine.

"You're going back to prison for this, you know," Blaine told him, inwardly hating that he had to look up at the other man despite holding the power in the situation.

Sebastian shrugged. "Doesn't really seem to matter now, does it?"

Something about that seemed off, but Blaine couldn't put his finger on what was setting him so off-balance all of a sudden. He'd always had a good sense of Sebastian's motives before, but something had shifted, as though the music they'd been dancing to all along had switched and Blaine didn't know the steps to the new routine.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed in on something and he reached toward Blaine. Blaine pulled back slightly, and Sebastian held up a placating hand before pulling a fiber from his shoulder. He held it up to the light.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, voice sounding odd as he looked at it.

Blaine shook his head while silently cursing himself for not cleaning his jacket thoroughly enough. "No. It's evidence from the case I was working before I had to come round you up."

Sebastian's face momentarily transformed into a leer, but he schooled it quickly. "What would it be worth if I told you what it is?"

Blaine's eyes widened. "How could you…?" In the background, the sound of approaching officers echoed in the hallway.

"Is it worth a meeting? If I tell you what it is, will you meet me in prison in a week?" Sebastian asked, sounding more urgent.

Ready to do just about anything for a break in the Dutchman case, Blaine nodded. "Fine."

"It's a security fiber for the new Canadian twenty dollar bill," he said as Santana, Sam, and a group of uniforms swarmed into the room. He grabbed Blaine's hand and placed the fiber back in it. Blaine shivered when Sebastian's hand lingered over his, fingers curling over his pulse point for a moment before he was jerked away and handcuffed.

"Remember," Sebastian called as the uniforms led him away, "one week!"

Blaine swallowed as Sebastian was led from the room, his heart racing and his wrist tingling from the contact.

* * *

Sebastian looked up at the window of Adam's old apartment from the street as he was led to a police car and smirked. Agent Anderson—Blaine—stood in the third story window, watching the procession, and his eyes locked on Sebastian's. There was an unreadable look on his face, which Sebastian knew meant that the other man hadn't been immune to the spark when they'd touched momentarily.

As the FBI had chased him across the world, Sebastian had made it his business to know the men and women hunting him. Rookie agent Blaine Anderson had immediately caught his attention—and not just because they were the same age and he had a fantastic ass that made even his cheap suits look good. For a man dating an up-and-coming fashion designer, Anderson sure did have some tired clothes.

No, Blaine caught his attention because he'd immediately zeroed in on Sebastian and gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had. In less than a year, he'd been leading the chase and seemed to know things about Sebastian that even Adam had never suspected or cared to ask about.

There had been something exhilarating about that, something intimate. Just thinking about it made Sebastian's heart pound and blood pulse; it made him feel _alive_.

But the one area Blaine had miscalculated was thinking that Sebastian was truly in love with Adam. True, Sebastian had thought the same thing, for a time. Adam had been a mentor, teaching him about the con, helping him perfect his forgery skills, and setting him up with a small circle of allies—codename Warblers, in a private joke at Agent Anderson's expense. The sex had been great and their time together intellectually stimulating, and Sebastian had fancied himself in love.

But the day of Sebastian's arrest, Adam had looked at him with a sad smile and admitted that he'd used Sebastian as a fall guy for the major heists they'd pulled and had gotten heat for. Adam had gone underground, leaving Sebastian to continue holding the interest of the Feds, and had resurfaced when he had the score of a lifetime lined up but needed police attention elsewhere.

"We could've been great together, Bas," he'd said. "If not for that FBI agent you're obsessed with."

So, Adam had cut his losses and led him on. Only when Agent Anderson had come in to arrest him after giving him time with the man he thought he loved did Sebastian realize how blind he'd been all along. He thought he'd traveled the world going after increasingly elaborate scores to get Adam's attention, but it had never been about Adam.

No, the postcards sent from extradition-free countries had been to hold the attention of the man who had arrested him—the man who understood what made him tick, who challenged him and seemed to revel in the game as much as Sebastian did, who _respected_ him and his work even if he didn't condone it.

"Good game," he'd told the agent. _Best two out of three,_ he'd silently added as he'd been taken away. Sebastian was competitive, and he was willing to play the long game.

And when Adam had come to the prison the previous month to tell him that Blaine was engaged, Sebastian knew it was time. He'd left all the right clues, fabricating a breakup with Adam to bring himself face-to-face with Blaine for the first time since his trial and goddamn, it had been worth it.

Blaine hadn't lost anything; if anything, he'd only gotten better in the years Sebastian had been in prison, training and experience doing him good. And that ass was still to die for.

Yes, Sebastian thought with a smirk, he was going to make the most of that meeting.

* * *

Ten days later, Sebastian walked out of the supermax prison with a shiny new tracking anklet secured around his leg. Blaine was waiting for him outside of the gate, jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest.

"Say hello to your new CI," Sebastian said. _Best two out of three, Anderson_. And Sebastian hated losing.


End file.
